Staying low

Choosing to stay low, Lauren shuffled back to the bushes on hands and knees, her knees scraping the grass. The keeper's gaze swept over her, but she kept her head down, swaying side to side like she'd seen primates do. It felt ridiculous, degrading even, but it worked—the keeper shrugged and moved on, muttering into her radio about "Coco is settling in."

Relief washed over her, mixed with humiliation. Now what? The crowd thinned slightly, but more visitors trickled in. Her body ached from the position, and the hair itched terribly. She spotted a cluster of fruits near the pond—zoo-provided treats for the apes. Hunger gnawed at her; she hadn't eaten since morning.

Lauren hesitated, then picked up a fruit awkwardly with her "paw," biting in. Juice dribbled down her chin, mingling with the drying honey. It tasted sweet, but eating like this made her feel even more animalistic. Tourists cooed, snapping photos. "Aw, look at her eating!"

As the afternoon dragged, Lauren found herself mirroring an ape more and more—scratching at the fur, lounging in the shade—to avoid drawing attention. The disguise held, but a new pressure built low in her belly. She needed to relieve herself. Badly.

She could squat behind the bush, but risk partial exposure to the lingering crowd.

She could try to hold it longer, crawling deeper into the foliage and praying for privacy, or waiting for the night.

She could even try the pond, hoping the water hides her while she squats at the edge, hoping that the water doesn't wash the disguise away.